Omg the update for this took too long xD This chap is for koyamon-lover!
Shipping: LiftyxFlaky
Rating: T
Word(s): Cold Night
Warning: This is AU and contains Flaky as OOC, as in, she isn't very shy ;P
xXx
"And stay out!" A harsh voice rang through the empty street, followed with the sounds of trash cans being toppled over, their contents spilled over the damp sidewalk. Out of the discarded trash a boy of eighteen or nineteen years sat straight, a fierce glint of hatred brightening his already glowing eyes. Hanging out the door of the shabby apartment was one similar to him, the only difference being a fedora topped on his head, a look of bubbling anger, and the biting curses leaving his lips. "You can go sleep with the fucking dogs! I told you not to touch my stuff! You're not getting back in here!"
"Like I need you!" the thrown out male said as he stood and threw aside a banana peel that'd been on his shoulder. "Blah! Such a drama queen, it was just a stupid picture! Fine, you can be alone then, but don't tell me later on that you need help getting into some person's house because I won't listen!" He would have continued his shouting, waking up the neighbors and likely getting arrested for causing a public disturbance, if his twin hadn't slammed the door closed.
Lifty and Shifty. Known as the conmen of New York City and as slick as hair gel. The two were rock hard, cold, soulless young men who had made a living out of duping any person who was foolish enough to strike a deal with them. Cheating, deceiving, tearing down reputations from the shadows, that was how they had earned the title of being some of the most notorious people who walked the streets. From the day they'd held up a bank for the first time, to the crooked schemes they used to knock people off their high clouds to the hard ground presently, they'd sent fear into whoever they came into contact with.
It was passed around from ear to ear that if you met them late at night, strolled by them on a sidewalk, or were one of the unfortunate folk who turned the wrong corner and got trapped in a dead end, they'd find a way to lure you into making a gamble. A deal. A bet. One that you had no chance of winning. They knew their advantages and skills, using them in their favor to bring into their possession whatever called. Even if the article was worthless, of no monetary value in the slightest, they would strip it of you in a heartbeat. Call them kleptomaniacs, greedy, rats—they'd been labeled as all of those—but it was the way life had always been.
Born and raised on the streets they hadn't had a chance to grow in a child friendly environment, have real friends who wouldn't eventually turn on and stab them in the back, or even go to a school that wasn't, well, being inspected for evidence of murder cases. The neighbors weren't exactly the most generous people you could meet, most being ex-convicts, some being on the run at times, or dimwitted adults who seemed like they hadn't known what a child was. They certainly didn't know how to treat and play role model for one.
Constantly surrounded by these bad influences of drugs, alcohol, and deceitful people, they hadn't any other being to take inspiration from. Had their mother been at home, acting like the cheery blonde haired, blue eyed women they'd seen in magazines, greeting their children every day with adoration and love, maybe they would have turned out right. Maybe they wouldn't have grown twisted and bitter when they found that the dreams of having a future that the other privileged children would have was just a joke. And maybe they would have felt hurt, betrayed, unloved when they ran from their home and realized their mother didn't give a damn where they'd gone off to.
They hadn't though. Not one part of them had cried out and longed to go back to the hovel they called home.
It was that night when they'd snuck out the back door with only the clothes on their backs and the forty dollars they'd taken from the savings jar on top of the fridge that reality had came crushing down on them.
Their mom had come in a drunken state, in no shape to ask them what they'd eaten, and if they did, where'd they get the money to buy it. She had waddled in, steps unbalanced and woozy, and kicked off her heels. Her breath smelt strongly of a concoction of vodka and a pineapple drink. How did she get home without a cop pulling her over? Eyes bloodshot and words garbled, she hadn't been able to tell them apart; not that she seemed to care which was which. She told Shifty, who was really Lifty, to stop talking so loud when he simply asked if she was okay.
They hadn't known what brought it on, but later that night she had gone into a fit of rage. Their mom was always crazy when she drank too much. They thought it was something that happened to all grownups and was triggered by what was put in their drinks. But that night she had seemed serious when she screamed out that it was their fault their father had left her. He'd left when she had started gaining weight, she'd been right in the head back then, and had found out that she was carrying not one, but two children. The man had been cowardice and hadn't believed he could handle the responsibility of feeding two more mouths, along with having a needy wife. He was in the prime of his life, and to throw that away to take a chance with his high school sweetheart was too much of a risk.
So he left. He ran away from his problems. Like a coward.
Lifty and Shifty never said anything to the concerned teachers about the bruises they had, symbols of their life at home. They muscled through the jeering kids who would call their mother nothing but a drunken prostitute. A woman who could do nothing and the best she had to offer was her body for one night, a dirty lowlife, a person lower than the worms in the dirt or the dogs who ate garbage. Those were the times they thought she just withheld her love for them, afraid to bring out her innermost feelings and say how proud she was of them, and they thought of the marks as affectionate gifts she'd given them.
On that fateful night, in the lighting of the knocked over lamp and TV that was airing Full House, she had looked far from affectionate. Her fists were waving, the crazy look and her streaming tears the cause of sorrow, remorse, hatred at the twins, and too much beer. A slam to the wall hadn't been enough. She wanted to see the two children who ruined her life be taken out of it. Maybe then her lover would come back and they'd live the fantasy they'd always talked about. If the two mistakes were effaced, things would go back to what they were years ago, she wouldn't have any of the regrets she had then.
The neighbors didn't interfere with their family matters, if they had it would have been a change for the better or worse. They could have been taken away from the custody of the woman and be put in a foster home. It'd still be a challenging life, but at least they'd get a chance to find someone who cared for them. If only, if only, if only they hadn't come into the world, she wouldn't be so angry.
Only after she had collapsed on the couch, the screaming gone and only silent sniffles from the youngest twin heard, did Shifty take authority. They needed to get out. Find their own way in life, he'd seen the movie where the kid runs away and finds a rich family looking for a child to adopt. That could be them if they got lucky. They'd find a wealthy old couple who had no family lines and were just looking for heirs to their million dollar estate, they'd be loved for years, and when it came time to be on their own, they'd know exactly what direction their lives were heading in.
That was about the time where reality, the little bitch, came into play.
To survive the big city they needed to be tough as nails, unforgiving, the antagonists to everyone's fairytale. Squishy and unprotected from the chaotic events of the world, they would have been eaten alive, killed on their first night. They needed to break the memories that gave them feelings, feelings are where weakness is found after all. One by one they broke, snapped, destroyed any happy memory they'd ever had—which wasn't much. And after all of it, years passed from that night, the conmen were created.
Mean, crude, quick in wit and tongue, they were the description of broken itself.
Just like every night the two fought—far from brotherly bickering—and this one was no exception. Last night it was over who had eaten the last granola bar, and last week it was the blame game, both upset that their latest heist had failed and almost gotten them arrested. They had slipped away seconds before the police had burst through the door, eager to find the criminals they'd been hunting down for nearly four years, and used the darkness of the night as a cloak to shield them. Always capable of dodging the outstretched fingers of the law, the close discovery had made an uproar, mostly for the eldest brother.
This dispute had dealt with Lifty rummaging through his brother's secrete trunk. Within it was memorabilia, either photographs from where they'd traveled in their lives, though it wasn't far, or cherished treasures the twin had obtained through robberies. Burglaries from the higher class were risky, but they would always rake in a new pricy item. Shifty was one who'd become attached to the possessions he claimed, so it was natural that he'd be choleric when coming home to find him shuffling through the trunk. Exacerbated further when his kin wouldn't leave his belongings be, in particular a picture of a pale skinned woman, red tendrils contrasting against her, he'd seen on billboards around the city, he'd thrown him out.
Not just figuratively, but literally.
He'd grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, dragging him to the door, and shoved him down the steps. In only his vest and thin shirt, Lifty would add.
The night was lit, golden lamps shed their light generously out apartment windows, but they gave no warmth to him. The crisp, nippy winter air swirled, carrying fallen leaves and scraping crumpled newspapers on the road. Sky clear overhead save for a few ominous appearing clouds, he was still incapable of seeing the distant white dots that he'd heard showed up at night. He had not seen them for . . . he hadn't ever seen them. He would have lingered on the sidewalk and stared longingly at the navy blue atmosphere, if it wasn't for the sheer chill.
Streaming lights dying the concrete in soft orange and yellow tints, Lifty kept his eyes turned downwards as he stalked from the house. His anger would have rose like the mercury in a thermometer on a hot day, but his thoughts were turned to the sharp coldness that penetrated and froze even the marrow in his bones. Goosebumps arose on his arms as he fiercely rubbed them to preserve his warmth.
I don't even know where I'm going, he thought, all I know is that I want to be away from that dick. He acts like I set fire to everything he owns, what a little girl.
The street was empty, disregarding the yowling cats that sat on the fences, singing their songs to the ever listening moon, and a bustling man who hurried into his car upon seeing the oncoming thief. Even from afar he knew that mask from the wanted ads in papers and on the news, but he hadn't the nerve to report him. That would be asking to get killed and he didn't want that.
With the car speeding off the street was truly deserted, Lifty left to think on where he could spend the night, preferably somewhere heated. His pockets were empty, his wallet on the dresser where he'd left it, and his phone had been disconnected for failed payment. He couldn't call anyone anyways, they'd turn a deaf ear or be too frightened to listen to the bandit. The downsides of being an infamous robber—you lost whatever meager amount of friends you started with, mostly from betrayal, and you couldn't just waltz into a hotel looking for a room without being pounced on by cops.
Lifty sighed. No way would he be staying outside, sleeping on a park or bus bench and using newspapers as sheets. And he wouldn't be jumping a sewer dweller for his grimy, worn down sweater or cap. Shivering and upset he was, but desperate and pumping himself to get in a fight with a half drunk, easily angered, aggressive homeless man he wasn't.
It was then that the oranges turned brighter, changing into a faint white. He turned his eyes up, catching the flashy billboard that read "Joe's Cafe! Tonight Only, Live Performance by Scarlet!". Not only did the flashing bulbs surrounding the name capture his curiosity, but the long, smooth legs that led to a ruffled skirt helped. The skirt was matched with a body hugging bodice, naked shoulders curving up in a slim throat that flaunted a choker, a diamond cut jewel dangling off a loop its only eye catcher. Well, what it rested above might have been the real eye catcher, below it being the woman's scantily hidden chest.
Curled hair was cast around her, the shocking red a contribution to her name. At her rounded face, lips pursed in a slight pout and eyes holding the most calling stare in the depths of the ruby pools, he recognized her as the picture his brother had panicked over.
"Scarlet," Lifty mused, already forming an idea of how he could get back into the house. A picture from her would be an "I'm really not sorry but I need to come back" gift for Shifty. He would get it somehow. Smiling because he held prior knowledge of a short cut that led to the cafe, he backtracked his steps and vanished in the dark of an alleyway.
xXx
"Ms. Scarlet, you look lovely with your hair styled up this way."
She knew she was lovely, stunning even, but was a cafe the best gig her manager could book? The place was for poetry readings and somewhere that sold cappuccinos that wouldn't cost you an arm and a leg, not where she would have thought to perform at. She had put her foot down when a previous performance was scheduled to be at a nursing home, along with firing her manager for being a dolt.
The new manager had proven to be her best yet. The man was a tech geek, know it all, perfectionist sort of guy. Always pushing his glasses' rim up and combing back his teal hair, he would guarantee that she was given the best of the best. He wouldn't settle on anywhere old or unpopular—but yet, there she was, in what she imagined to be a hastily put together back stage, having her hair done and eyeing a bulb on her mirror that had blown out.
Her hair stylist, who was also her part time secretary and friend, had given her the compliment to reassure her that this performance wouldn't be disastrous. It could be worse, she could be giving a show outdoors, the icy winds hitting her and her unable to get to shelter for almost a two hours.
"You really do," her violet haired stylist said, grabbing a silky strand that had fallen away from her tightly bound bun. Tucking it back in its proper place, she undid the curlers used on the front two pieces of hair. The voluminous spring-like locks bounced up to frame her face and cause the stark contrast the sudden color always gave when compared to her paleness.
"But no one who's preeminent will be seeing me like this," the performer curtly replied. "I don't know why Sniffles had to book me here, it's so . . . public. So now I'm performing for everyone? Before it was the ones who could pay enough to see me in show. And it's not like we're exactly charging people to watch, does that man want to go bankrupt?"
"Well," her assistant covered the finished hair with overly generous quantities of spray. "It is for a good cause, Ms. Scarlet, you seem to be forgetting that any money made here will go to the children who may be, well, not as capable of handling their lives as much as others. Plus the cafe said they'd give a donation too, it'd be a small thank you for having such a known guest sing here . . ."
"Lammy," her snappish tone had abated into one that was calmer, quiet, the voice her assistant rarely heard anymore. The singer turned in her chair, gazing firmly into her lavender eyes. "I told you don't have to call me 'Ms. Scarlet' like the others do. How many times do I have to tell you? I'm still Flaky," she caught the flash of disbelief in her friend's face before she swallowed it down. Frankly, it hurt. "I-I'm still me, so I don't know why you've been treating me differently since Scarlet was created . . ."
Lammy snorted as if she had told a funny joke and began dusting her cheeks with blush. "Please excuse whatever comes out of my mouth because I don't mean any offense. You're my friend, but also my boss and I kinda need this job."
Flaky tensed for anything she'd have to say. Lammy, whenever given the chance, reprimanded her without hesitance.
"I don't believe you when you say you haven't changed." The brush strokes were light and even despite the growing anger she withheld in her grip. "You're always telling me that you are still the same person. You really don't know how much that makes me want to throw up and laugh at once. Personally, I think this Scarlet character is a disgrace to the real Flaky."
Flaky would have objected and put her two cents in, but Lammy spoke on. "She's just another snobby singer who thinks she can have anything she wants, and that it'll be served on a silver platter to her. She doesn't care who she's showing her talent to as long as she's getting paid big for it. And lastly, she didn't even keep the promise made to me."
With each word about her cover up, Flaky grew both offense and a new pang in her heart. It was all true, but what could she do about it? "I-I'm sorry Lammy—"
"No, no, there's no need to apologize. I knew this would happen back in high school when you started thinking outside of the box, wondering how big you could get this career to blow up to. Really, don't apologize." Her brows were knitted as she finished her work and moved to applying crimson lipstick to her peachy lips.
"But I really don't see how I've changed, I don't feel any difference in myself."
Lammy stepped back, admiring her work and inspecting for any mistakes she made. "That's the thing that really irritates me. You're the one who's changing and you can't even see it. Such an idiot girl."
"Hey! J-just because I haven't seen it doesn't mean I'm any stupider than I was before! You have no right to call me that—"
"See, right there." The girl sighed and began packing the cosmetics and hair supplies. "The old Flaky would have never lashed out because I called her an idiot. She'd take it as a joke instead of to the heart. But of course, I'm talking to Ms. Scarlet so I must watch what I say."
Flaky narrowed her eyes, disliking the snide tone her assistant had. "You know, maybe it's better that I took on this abrasive side. If I hadn't, I'd still be getting walked over by everyone like some sort of doormat. I didn't enjoy that, you know. People would always think of me as some shy . . . naive . . . girl who was too frightened to show her real colors. But with Scarlet, I can be who I want and not be told to get back in line."
"You're wrong." She threw the bag over her shoulder and walked to the door that read exit over it.
"What?"
Lammy stopped, hand on the door, and smiled half-heartedly. "Scarlet is just a shield you hide behind just so you can pretend you're the queen. A person that everyone has to bow down and listen to her every whim. You were sweet as your old self, the part that wasn't fake. It was genuine Flaky, and you only had to say something about being a yes girl, you didn't have to go and create—"
She stopped and waved, pushing the door and leaving into the damp alleyway. "My day's over, I'm going home. Tell me how this performance goes tomorrow, unless Scarlet is too high and mighty to talk to me." Her sardonic laughter was shut off as the door closed.
Flaky, solitary and feeling friendless, forsaken even, turned back to the mirror. It reflected the picture of a beautiful, rich woman who wore pearl earrings, silk elbow length gloves, and with looks that could lure any man to fall in love with her. But behind and beside her, there was no one. No friend, no family, no being who she could rejoice her prosperity with.
Lammy was the only friend who had stayed by her all through middle and high school when she'd been the new kid, a stand out nobody who they all considered a freak because of her hair color. She had come from a secluded town in the east, the kind where everyone knew your grandmother's maiden name and could remember the day you skinned your knee as a child from the top of their head, and been made fun of for having that twang accent. Even the buck toothed, freckled boy who looked more like he'd come from the same place laughed as she gave an oral report. But Lammy had been her light, the flame that guided her in the dark tunnel.
Together they had made a pact, promising to stick with one another and keep no hostile feelings should the other succeed in the career they both aimed for. Being a singer. Flaky always was the more talented girl, her love and ambition the main factors for why she was where she was present day.
True to her word, Lammy had stuck to her like glue when the record label called and offered her the deal of a lifetime. She'd been there while the redhead recorded her first song; she'd seemed so pure under the lighting, her eyes closed in bliss and her heart filled with content. She was there at her first performance at their old high school and each one after that, including the show she'd put on in Time's Square on New Year's Eve just half a month back. And she was there, unfazed, when a wave of people came clawing to be her friend. Each was fake, phony, imposters, and Flaky found that out soon enough.
Nobody wanted to see a timid, covered girl these days, though. They wanted a woman who was willing to show skin, be risky and daring, an assertive role model that they could be inspired from. And for that to happen, Flaky knew she needed to change her outwards appearance least she be thrown to the curb like garbage. New York was a city that could eat you alive and spit out your pulpy remains, it didn't have room for just another nameless face. Scarlet was formed then, similar to an alter ego.
The outgoing woman was a scream, her clothes were skimpy and made people notice her, and her diva attitude was all the rage in gossip magazines. Nudity, profanity, on the arm of a hot guy every week, the New Yorkers ate it up. She was soon the talk of every jealous woman, lusting man, and inspired child—what she inspired them to be though . . . It wasn't her concern. She grew an image of being the rebel chick, a spontaneous sweetheart who could be a devious back stabber if she so pleased to.
The attention was good. It was all she ever asked for. So why, whenever she heard talk about how amazing Scarlet looked in a video, which was shot practically in the nude, did she feel hollow inside? As if she were missing something vital to her life, an object she hadn't had since the start of her flourishing job. When she prodded at the hole too long, it would fester and expand, her chest aching until she quit focusing on it. The pain was there, numbed and at a temporary standstill, but hurting whenever stirred up. She didn't understand, she had everything she ever wanted at her fingertips, but she felt so empty.
"Ten minutes until you go on Ms. Scarlet." She was interrupted by the voice of the cafe's manager. "Are you ready?"
"Huh? Oh, yes, I am." She dabbed at her moistened eyes. When had she started tearing up? "I-I'll be out there soon, just give me a few moments."
"Alrighty, take your time." The manager left, her teary eyes and croaky voice going unnoticed.
In the front of the cafe, couples and singles sat on couches, the stools at the small bar, and tables meant to seat two. They leisurely spoke or turned magazine pages, enjoying steaming cups of Joe and hot chocolate. The heated liquid warmed them thoroughly, welcomed by the stragglers who had braced the winter winds. Slowly at first groups of folk began filling and occupying every open chair in the, albeit, cramped cafe, and following closely behind one group, cautious his face wouldn't be seen, was the kleptomatic twin.
Lifty went to the bar instantly, the bells that chimed his arrival annoyingly loud and almost screaming that he was a convict. To others he was simply another individual who had come to admire the singer. He hoped that they'd keep oblivious, he needed that photo if he was to get back in the warmth of his bed. A scream that alerted every one of his status would lead to twenty calls to the police and him wandering the streets aimlessly.
Seated on a stool, he kept his head angled to his lap, waiting a near seven minutes before the manager walked onto the stage. He put his chin on his fist and counted how long it took for the older man to get his formalities and introductions over with.
121—122—Infinity.
"And without further ado!"
Finally.
"I welcome you the fabulous, gorgeous, talented singer! Scarlet Pine!" Lifty straightened considerably, the room bursting in claps, whistles, and hoots as a woman clad in a long sleeve dress walked out. The howling grew to unbelievable levels as she spun in a teasingly slow circle, putting on display the lowly cut back of her outfit for every eye to witness. It was Scarlet in the flesh, just ten meters away from him, and the billboard hadn't exaggerated on her flawless beauty.
"Holy fuck," Lifty let out involuntarily, catching the disapproving glares of a female and her companion. It wasn't a wonder his brother—who usually could tell what girl he would pin down by just her looks—would be fussing over a picture of her. Curvy body, large eyes that sent subliminal messages to every male in the crowd, and a famous title, she had it all.
But there was something there, Lifty detected a hurting in those sparkling eyes, a pain as she blew kisses and grabbed the mic. Though as she began singing, her soprano voice hypnotic and silencing the room, the pain ebbed away. It was replaced with tranquility, calmness, fear of nothing except the stopping of the lyrical words itself. The lines cast a spell, painting a scene that played through their minds, and entwined her emotions with theirs. Hand and hand they traveled through the music that fooled them with its fast and happy beat, but its sorrow filled meaning.
It was during one line the lyricist sang that Lifty couldn't help but feel like he knew her face. The picture and billboard; that must have been why he felt he'd seen her somewhere. No, that wasn't it. What was it?
"You all cast adoring glances in my direction,
But none ever try to get to know me,
Why?
I'm not just a pretty face,
Yet you treat me like I'm a goddess, some Oddessy.
These perfect things, the crowds I've known, it's all worthless in the end,
Still you don't understand who I really am."
The cafe's guests were unaware of the shine in her eyes that wasn't a result of the light's glare as she finished. They were all the same, they only listened to the song but never understood the meaning behind it. Why even try anymore? They would give her their affections even if she sang of killing them all. Brainless, mindless, imbeciles, all of them.
Flaky bit her lip and smiled weakly at the clapping crowd, ready to get off the stage and prepare herself for her next song in half an hour. Scanning the faces that looked so identical to the next, she was shocked when she saw one who wasn't clapping or showing any signs he appreciated her performance. His curious emerald orbs pierced into hers behind the mask, a forbidding edge to them. She wasn't scared, her interest to why he wasn't acting like the rest overcame her rationality as she stepped down. Her feet carried her around the tables, the loving cries and gazes disregarded as her main focus was the man.
"You're amazing Ms. Scarlet!" an energetic girl squealed out.
"You too," Flaky replied distantly, sparing not even one glance towards her admirer. As she neared the black sheep her confidence wavered. She felt the stares on her back that waited to see what she would do, would she turn around or go on to talk to the masked man?
"Hello," she said, marveling at how nervous she was to be the first to begin a conversation. She sat on the seat to his left, analyzing him as he did the same.
"Hi," he responded huskily. It wasn't long before a smirk grew, the man wondering out loud, "Now why oh why has the almighty Scarlet graced me with her presence? I'm confident in the knowledge that I wasn't clapping, so why don't you go sit with your number one fan?" He nodded his head at the teenager who had complimented her. "She seems like fun, and I think I heard her screaming for you."
Rude was her first impression of him. It should have ward her away, but the fact that no one dared be rude to her was enticing. He could hold himself while in her presence, unlike the others who caved like collapsing tunnels. "I'd rather not," Flaky coolly answered, shuddering at the girl's pimple covered face. "I came here because . . . because . . ."
"Oh, so you don't have a reason Ms. Hotshot? Because I doubt you came to me because you want an idle chat. Is it because I wasn't clapping? You wanted to see everyone clap for you, eh? Well your wish is my command~" Lifty started before she could say otherwise, feeling satisfied at the color that rose to her face as he smacked his hands together in a drawn out, mocking clap. Perhaps it wasn't smart to infuriate the diva when he still needed that picture, but he couldn't help it.
"Well that was uncalled for." She reached for the soda the manager had graciously set down, seeing how she wasn't leaving the spot soon. She hadn't even touched the glass before his hand curled around the cup and he pulled it towards himself, raising the rim to his lips and ignoring that it was hers. Watching as he gulped down the drink in one swig, she mustered up her meanest glare. "Hey! What was that for?! That was my drink. And you drank it."
"Way to point out the obvious, sweetheart, I think you deserve a gold star for effort." He whistled for a refill on the drink, clearly unaffected by her stare. Rather, he found it amusing. As the newly filled cup was delivered to him, he sent her a side smirk, "Don't do that, you'll ruin your adorable little face. Why don't you smile for me like you do for the magazines? Maybe your visit will stand out in my memory, maybe~"
Flaky watched as he tilted the glass to his mouth, steamed that now the man who she thought might me remotely interesting was dissing her. Acting on impulse, her fingers grazed the cup's bottom and bumped it up. It was mean even for her, but the jerk had deserved it.
She smiled as Lifty coughed at the onrush of soda, holding the cup from his lips as he tried hacking up the liquid that traveled down his wind pipe. It happened in the span of two seconds, Flaky hitting his cup, Lifty choking and sputtering, and the splash of soda that hit his pants and shirt. The fizzy drink soaked into the clothes instantaneously, the wet circle growing over his zipper and moving to a stop at his mid thighs. Sticky and dripping now, he tried glaring but couldn't hold the stare with the wracking coughs.
Flaky, with the look of being pleased by a naughty action, shrugged nonchalantly. "Sorry about that, it was an accident~"
"Y-you," Lifty started, then thinking better of it, waited for his cough to subside so he could hiss out, "You, why did you do this?"
"I said it was an accident~! I'm so very sorry, maybe next time you shouldn't be taking what was meant for me."
Lifty, shaking off the soda drips from his hand, glowered. "Just because you're a star doesn't mean you can do what you want. It also doesn't mean that you can't get on my bad side. Sweetheart, when you're on my bad side, you better expect some misfortune. Now are we going to be a polite little bitch and walk away?"
"Ooh a threat," giggled Flaky. "And just because I'm a star doesn't mean that I can't have a bad side as well, and Mr., you just made top listing. Consider yourself lucky that you're number one for something now. How does that make you feel?"
At the witty response, Lifty suppressed a smile. The singer had spunk, he would give her that, and she lived true to her diva name. Leaning back on the legs of the chair, he shut his eyes. "It makes me think that you aren't all that you appear to be, if your song was no implication. Now, what's your real reason for sitting here? Am I really that attractive?"
"As if," Flaky muttered, giggling at how he opened one eyes to glare half seriously. He wanted her true reason . . . How would she respond to that? She couldn't say that the rest of the crowd were simpletons who followed the trend of the world, he would think she was crazy. Sighing, she put her elbows on the counter and sunk down. "You wouldn't listen if I was to tell you."
"I've listened this far, go ahead and shoot. I bet your story won't be a real shocker."
"It's pretty long though . . . I wouldn't want to bore you . . ."
"Right, cuz you've been doing a bang up job of not doing that so far~" His smile was joking, but the sock, though it didn't hurt one bit, he received wasn't. "Okay no abuse Red, just tell me what's bugging you."
And that's how she told her life's story to a man she had barely met, and he seemed to actually be listening.
xXx
"Alright, one last question."
Two hours they'd been talking, taking breaks only for her song numbers, and she had spilled almost everything she had to him. In return, he told her what she wanted to know about his life, but he hadn't focused too much on the areas that intrigued her most. He had come from a broken home, his mother was a drunk who he didn't miss, and his brother was a fan of hers. Lifty still hadn't brought up the picture as they stepped out into the below zero weather. Maybe he would, but he'd have to sneak it.
Flaky shivered as the freezing air touched her bare legs, wishing she'd taken Lammy's advice and worn a sweater. Both in the same position, neither having coats of any sort, they knew the other's predicament. Their breaths foggy and the car meant to be her transportation honking as they spoke, there was only time for one question.
"O-okay," Flaky's teeth rattled in the cold. "A-ask away."
"What's your real name?"
"W-what?"
"I said 'what's your real name?'," Lifty said, shifting from foot to foot to gain some warmth. "Because I don't believe that your name is Scarlet, I just don't. So what is it?"
"Why w-wouldn't you believe that my name is Scarlet?" she asked cautiously. Flaky was such a soft name that would fade into the background, Scarlet was a name that left an impression. It was bold, mysterious, and unique. It was the name that started the idea of the singer being a go getter, not a sit back and let people trample you person. Lammy was one of the few people she trusted with her birth name, and though she shared her story with this man, she wasn't sure she would have liked to give him her name.
"You don't look like a Scarlet." It was a simple but true answer. "That's all."
"W-well just because I don't look like it doesn't mean anything," her answer was bitter, catching him by surprise.
Guessing that was an off limit zone, he backed away from the subject. The breeze picking up and suggesting that it'd soon be windy, something he knew neither could withstand, Lifty looked to her ride. "Oh, well, I guess you should be going before you catch a cold. If you ever need anyone to talk to about your problems . . ." The invitation was open to her.
Flaky nodded briskly, feeling that her nose and toes were already frozen. "I-I think I m-might take you up on that o-offer some day. T-thank you. B-bye." She turned towards the car where Sniffles was impatiently waiting for her, only to have a heat creep up her arm from her hand. Hesitantly, she looked back at the masked man, but the warmth was moved to her lips.
His rough look was only that—a look. He was tender, not demanding like she would have expected, as a calloused hand came up to tilt her chin. The spark was undeniable, and if Flaky wasn't mistaken, that was a sure sign of something.
What was it a sign of? Her brain had gone dead as she stared into the depths of his emerald pools, his breath heating her cheeks. They grew hotter, hotter, they were flaming. That couldn't only be from his breath, she realized. Was she blushing?
Lifty pulled away, pretending that she was the only one who was red despite feeling his own face burning. He dropped her hand and paused to give her a chance to recover and speak.
"W-what was that for?" Flaky stammered. "W-why would you—?"
"Your lips were turning blue, so I heated them up~" It was plausible, and he hoped that she'd buy it. The weight of the phone-and new picture for his brother—in his pocket was heavier than he remembered as he pushed her towards her manager. "And I think it'll get you through the night, if it doesn't, call that number and we'll talk. Don't worry about how late it is, I'm sort of a night person anyways~"
Flaky looked in her hand, Lifty leaving her, and took the number he slipped into her hold as his. She could call anytime she wanted to . . . and she didn't even know what his name was. There was hesitation in her voice as she called, "H-hey! Thank you, r-really, thanks. And, um, F-Flaky, it's Flaky!"
Lifty glanced back, slowing to a stop. "It's no problem. What was that last thing?"
"Flaky, t-that's my real name. F-L-A-K-Y, Flaky, b-because you wanted to know. I also never got your name, which is . . ?"
"Lifty, mine's Lifty." The smile he'd grown was turned into a frown as recognition dawned on her. So she knew who he was, and she'd be calling the cops at any second now. He waited, but she did nothing but nod shyly. Huh, so she wouldn't go running off to turn him in. This girl could actually be interesting.
"L-Lifty. Okay, well it was nice meeting you, and I'll be sure to give you a call one of these days. I would l-like to talk to you again." A memory from the past rose to the surface of her mind, and it got her to smile. "Is there a-any chance that you went to the middle school just a couple blocks from here? The one w-with the principal who couldn't count p-past ten?"
He nodded and began asking himself where she was going with this.
Flaky's smile grew. "I remember you then. Y-you and your brother, S-Shifty if I'm remembering correctly, would always take my lunch money. And I remember—" The smile vanished and turned to slit eyes instead. "—and I remember y-you two always stealing my homework! A-all the time! A-and I'd work really hard on it too . . !"
So that was where he recalled seeing her face at, that made sense. Thinking back, there was this brainiac redhead who the twins always riled up. She would get so angry, it was an adorable sight, and probably why they took little things from her each day. Before she could take off her heels to throw at him, Lifty grinned widely and continued walking down the street.
The coldness that whipped around him wasn't as biting anymore, for it felt as though a warm jacket was draped around his shoulders. He looked at the empty night sky, still expecting the stars he wouldn't get, and pressed an index finger to his lips. From his place, he could see the first snowflake fall from the clouds and swirl away with the wind. A cold night it was, but he felt warm. She was special, but could a conman and a star ever be?
"Flaky, that's a nice name."
xXx
This feels so incomplete even if it took a hella long time to write. It feels like I wrote the first chapter of a story instead of a oneshot, why!? D: So I called her Scarlet Pine because, well duh. Her hair color, and Pine is part of "Porcupine" :p
To Blue Banana: I have not even written Flaky with more than one character, what makes you think I could handle an orgy of about fifteen?! Are you TRYING to kill me?! DX
Up Next:
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FliqpyxFlaky /M (for smut)/ Clarity for Guest
AntsxFlaky /T/ Creepy for beejebuz
OCxFlaky /T/ Fear for Tommy-The-Panda
PopxFlaky /T/ Jailbait for Crystalalala (yeah, I didn't know what to do for your name xD)
FliqpyxFlaky /?/ ? for htf fan (can I at least have a word? I have a plot and I want to see if the word causes it to need a higher rating :P)
FlippyxFlaky /T (possibly M)/ Cannibal for Guest
